


A Shorts Story About Love

by onereader



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A couch is properly defiled, Anal Sex, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Bisexual Harry Potter, Breaking house rules, Don't copy to another site, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hermione is the friend we all want, Lowkey they're all fucking, M/M, Magic University - Freeform, Making Out, Marijuana, Pansy regrets everything, Recreational Drug Use, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Smoke rings as foreplay, Student Draco Malfoy, Student Harry Potter, The way to a man's heart is through his shorts, recreational alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 04:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20651570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereader/pseuds/onereader
Summary: House-sharing with Slytherins, student life, magic weed, and short shorts. Harry's life at university might be strange, but he wouldn't change it for the world.





	A Shorts Story About Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [donnarafiki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/donnarafiki/gifts).

> The lovely [donnarafiki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donnarafiki) shared a prompt in the drarry discord and I was summoned, as if by magic. This is the result - I hope you like it my lovely!
> 
> Honourable mentions to my wonderful enabler and beta T, A who flailed and betaed with her usual accuracy and love, and M for her amazing cheerleading. You're all brilliant. Any remaining errors are mine!
> 
> ❤️

Eighth Year had been a strange time in Harry’s life. Being back at school after fighting a war and watching how the four houses mixed and mingled, working through their differences in a hormone-fuelled social trial by fire, had been strange. Harry had dated Ginny again, broke up, dated Michael Corner, broke up, decided not to become an Auror, and treacle tart had been served every night for pudding for the whole year. Strange indeed.

Stranger still was that Harry found himself at university afterwards. Oxford had a magical college that he’d only noticed Hermione talking about after the end of the war, when she had felt ready to plan for a future she had doubted she would live to see before Voldemort has been defeated. Ron had left Hogwarts and gone straight into working in the shop with George, and he loved every minute of inventing, selling, and not having to think about essay deadlines. Harry, however, had found himself enjoying the chance to extend his schooling - mostly because he didn’t have to attend to any responsibilities more serious than getting extensions from his lecturers, and calculating where the cheapest drinks in town were on any given night.

His student living arrangements were the strangest thing of all. He, Hermione, and Neville had ended up sharing a house with Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and Draco Malfoy. Harry found himself more surprised they had all survived their first year at uni without any of them murdering each other, than that they had all survived the war.

Harry felt like he’d been wandering in a slightly bemused haze since finishing Hogwarts, and realising that Hermione and Draco has synchronised study plans, Pansy and Neville had made an honest-to-god rota for the shared chores in the house (which they all actually obeyed), and he and Blaise had bonded over discovering they both had a taste for daytime muggle tv and murder mystery.

Which is all to say that Harry was content with his life, as strange as it was. Currently, he was happily half-cut—all six of them had taken advantage of the Happy Hour at their preferred Thursday night pub and had drunk themselves into a pleasant state of inebriation before heading home to eat curry and bitch about the dean of the college (he kept trying to get them to talk to the local paper about being ‘soldiers turned students’). Pansy and Hermione were ranting about it from their spot squeezed into the huge, lumpy armchair in the corner, both of their faces animated, the wine in their glasses dangerously close to slopping onto the floor with their gesticulating.

Blaise was watching them quietly from his chair, smoking a joint, his smile lazy and satisfied through the purple smoke curling from his lips. Neville grew the _best _weed, a magic strain of course. Harry had had a couple of tokes before passing it back to Blaise, he was smoothed on every edge, and if he relaxed any more he might melt into the sofa. Neville was wandering around the house watering all of the plants, his own spliff wafting trails of swirling colour behind him. Draco had disappeared not long after they came in, muttering about getting changed, and was yet to reappear. 

Draco was another very strange part of Harry’s life. He’d apologised to basically everyone, back in Eighth Year. Managed to make friends with Hermione within a month, even succeeded in sitting in the same room with Ron without starting a fight. At first Harry hated all of it, suspicious of Draco’s motives, of how real any of it really was. But gradually he’d come to respect his efforts, and by the end of the year he begrudgingly liked the prat. Draco had carried on being over-dramatic, ostentatious, and sarcastic, but had shed his old prejudices and hate like a snake leaving behind old skin. 

Living with him for the last year had shifted Harry’s perceptions even further. Draco had a favourite spot on the couch. He couldn’t kill a spider but would wake the nearest person (usually Harry, their rooms were next to each other) up _in the middle of the night _to get rid of it for him because he wouldn’t bloody touch them either. He was an absolute shit if someone took the last teabag, but would bring cake from the nice bakery in town when one of them was having an assignment crisis. He was endearingly attached to his favourite blue jumper, and had spent the last week bemoaning the fact it was too hot to wear it. He had a filthy sense of humour and would look positively impish if he managed to make someone blush. He was definitely bisexual, though he’d been rather off the dating scene for the last few months. Not that Harry had been paying undue attention to that. Regardless of what Hermione might say.

He also looked distressingly good. All the time. When he was hungover and grumpy, when he was wrapped up in miles of Hermione’s knitted scarves in the winter, when he was on the pull on a Friday night, when he was slipping out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around his hips, water dripping down his chest...he looked good.

Despite the weather being in the thirties, Draco had insisted on wearing a shirt and trousers to the pub instead of summer clothes like a normal person. Harry sipped at his bottle of beer, vaguely wondering if Draco even _owned_ a t-shirt. Just as he was about to ask Blaise if he’d ever seen Draco in anything other than bespoke tailoring, the man himself swanned into the living room. Wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Short shorts. Navy shorts that by their very shortness just highlighted the miles-long expanse of of Draco’s legs, all pale skin and lean muscle. 

Harry thought he’d been doing pretty well managing the _slight_ attraction he’d developed towards Draco. Blaise and Neville had even stopped giving him meaningful glances over breakfast when Draco walked in. But he wasn’t going to manage this. Because, _fuck, _he knew logically Draco had a body, but he’d never had to sit in the living room and deal with it being on show_._

Draco’s leg hair was as silvery blonde as the tousled hair on his head, his thighs were surprisingly muscled, the back of his knees looked like the kind of soft spot Harry could bury his face in for a good long time. Harry drifted into a slightly inappropriate daydream of doing just that, until Draco flopped gracelessly onto the other end of the sofa, jolting him back into the moment.

“Give me that, Blaise,” Draco demanded. “It’s too fucking hot, I need _something_ to help me relax.”

He impatiently snatched the joint from Blaise’s hand when he held it out, then took a deep breath of the richly scented smoke and held it for long moments, before blowing smoke rings at Harry. His grey eyes looked violet through the haze of smoke, and Harry managed to maintain eye contact for at least five seconds before his attention was drawn down to the bare legs spread along the couch. Draco had sort of elegant feet, Harry thought to himself, arched and pale. 

Draco wriggled where he half lay on the couch, until his feet rested against Harry’s thigh. And wasn’t that the distraction. Harry mindlessly sipped at his beer again, casting around for anything to say to break his own spiralling imagined exploration of every inch of the pale, pointy bastard sitting next to him. 

“Merlin,” Draco muttered to himself, readjusting his position yet again. “These shorts are so far up my arse I wouldn’t even need fingers before getting fucked.”

Harry’s brain did something it had never done before. It was like anything that wasn’t Draco Malfoy and _those words_ just disappeared. He couldn’t hear their friends. He couldn’t even see them. He couldn’t even really feel the sofa underneath him. Every sense, every higher thought process just...stopped. ‘_I wouldn’t even need fingers before getting fucked’ _just echoed over and over in his head, an endless loop of sudden, shocking desire.

He stared at Draco, smoke-wreathed and smirking, and all his mind could conjure up was visions of them together, doing just that. All he could see was those glittering grey eyes, and the imagined expression Draco would have on his face when Harry pressed into him. He _knew _he was being obvious, he wasn’t entirely confident his rapidly growing erection was sufficiently disguised, and yet he couldn't bring himself to care, couldn’t bring himself to care about anything other than the sudden crashing realisation that he didn’t just absently think Draco was good-looking. He totally, utterly, absolutely wanted to fuck him with every fibre of his body.

When Harry’s brain finally returned to working order, and the buzzing in his ears subsided, it was in time to hear Blaise bitching as he left the room. 

“Oh well, he’s gone and done it now. Told you it was only a matter of time until Draco pushed him over the edge!” His voice trailed off as he climbed the stairs, calling out to Neville.

Harry finally managed to drag his eyes away from Draco’s face. Only to find Hermione and Pansy both watching them with identical hawkish looks on their faces, flicking between him and Draco, their eyes bright. 

“Erm,” he started, not really sure what to say, but vaguely feeling the need to defend himself. 

Hermione just shook her head slowly, a bemused smile growing on her face. 

“Men.”

Pansy nodded sagely, before standing and grabbing Hermione’s hand to drag her from their shared chair and towards the door. 

“More wine is in order. See you later, chaps,” she said as they departed.

And then it was just him and Draco, and his sudden realisation that maybe he’d been wanting this for a while now and just hadn’t _really _realised until right this moment. He stared ahead at the cluttered coffee table, not sure what he might find, what he might _do_, if he turned to look at Draco again.

“Um.”

He heard Draco suck in a deep inhale next to him, and then a sinuous violet dragon was winding around him, smoke taken form under Draco’s lazy wandwork. 

“Come on, Harry, you’ve been so much better with your words recently. Was there something you wanted to say?” Draco was clearly aiming for posh and unaffected, but wine and weed had softened his drawl into something altogether more intimate. 

“You—“ Harry stopped, cleared his throat, took a swig from his bottle. “They mean—?”

“Yes, and yes. If that’s what you mean.”

Draco wriggled again, and the desire to whip his head around and watch the way it would make those shorts bunch up around his thighs, his crotch, was enough to make Harry twitch. 

“So you’ve...and I’ve? For how long?” Harry asked.

“Oh, probably about four months. Properly that is. Could be years if you want to be pedantic, but I don’t think you do.” Draco stretched those long legs out further, and laid his feet on Harry’s lap. Without making a conscious decision to do so, Harry rested his hand on one elegant ankle, wrapping his fingers around the delicate bone structure, absently stroking the soft skin there. “Mmm, that’s nice,” Draco hummed.

It was nice, Harry thought. His mind immediately took that thought and ran with it, like a niffler on the hunt for more gold-shining impressions of Draco’s body. If the skin of his ankle felt this soft, then Harry was probably right about the back of his knees. But what about the skin behind his ear? What about the base of his throat, the curve of his hip, the tender spot where thigh met pelvis.

Harry indulged himself for a moment, before his brain once again caught up with the situation. He risked a look at Draco, found himself being watched intently. 

“So you want—?” Harry asked.

“Mmhmm,” Draco hummed in affirmation. 

Draco held out the joint, and Harry gratefully took it. Inhaled, exhaled, twitched his fingers to send a slightly wobbly smoke-snitch towards Draco. Relished the delighted smile it provoked.

“Reckon it’s a good idea? Don’t want to bugger up—” Harry gestured vaguely around the room, “—all this.” He slanted his gaze sideways, watching Draco for his reaction. “We’d need to do it properly, I mean. Or not at all.”

Draco raised one eyebrow, a look of grudging admiration in his face. “So you _have_ thought about it. Good.” He grinned, puckish and bright. “Let’s, then. Properly.”

Harry hadn’t thought Draco would say yes. Not to something more than a dalliance. But he wasn’t one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, not when the prospect of Draco, of _them_ was on the table. Not when ‘_wouldn’t even need fingers’_ still ricocheted around his head.

“Get over here then,” he said, discarding the remnants of the spliff into the ashtray on the coffee table.

Draco snatched his feet away from Harry’s still-stroking hand, but he only had moments to mourn the loss before long legs and a lithe body were awkwardly climbing onto him. It took a moment or two for Draco to arrange himself comfortably, but then there he was, Draco Malfoy sitting on Harry’s lap looking like the cat that got the cream. 

Harry rested his hands on Draco’s thighs, his thumbs deliciously close to the generous bulge of his hard-on. 

“That’s my T-shirt, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, wondered when you’d notice that,” Draco teased. “Seemed the shorts took up all your brain-space though.”

Harry rolled his eyes, grabbed Draco’s hips and dragged him forward until his arse was in full, delicious, contact with Harry’s erection. “Not just the shorts.” 

Draco’s eyes glittered as he leaned down, bringing their faces together, and this was the moment, wasn’t it? They were going to cross the line. Harry couldn’t wait. He tilted his chin up, and then Draco’s mouth was on his, soft, clinging, sour with wine and sweet with smoke. He wanted more. The first sweep of their tongues against each other lit up every nerve ending in his body, and by the way Draco rolled his hips it was very mutual.

Harry slid his hands round to grope generous handfuls of Draco’s arse, before trying to sneak his hands down past the waistband. And failing. Because Draco was right, these shorts _were_ fucking tight. Harry broke the kiss to cast a quick locking spell on the living room door, watching Draco’s face for his reaction. 

“Yeah?” Harry asked.

“Yes.” Draco stripped off his T-shirt, nearly derailing Harry’s thought process again, before grabbing at Harry’s top and whipping it over his head with startling efficiency. 

Then there were hands in Harry’s hair, tilting his head, and Draco’s hot mouth trailing dragging kisses and sucking bites down his neck. A deep moan broke out of him, a nip in the hollow of his throat made his hips twitch impatiently. There was a time for slow and sweet, and it was later. So Harry struggled for a moment with the button of Draco’s shorts before frustration won out and he simply Vanished them. Then his own, for good measure.

Harry greedily swallowed up Draco’s shocked gasp at the sudden onslaught of full-body skin on skin contact, and again his hands moved with single-minded purpose to Draco’s arse. This time, there was no barrier, and Harry could stroke his fingertips into his crack. It was already slick with lube. Draco grinned into the kiss, their teeth clacking slightly, and Harry pulled away. He was dangerously close to just humping against him and coming too soon. 

“So when you said you didn’t need prep…”

“Mmm, I meant it,” Draco murmured, then sucked Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth.

Harry allowed Draco to lazily explore his mouth while he eased a finger past his rim, his own cock throbbing at the small sound Draco made at the sensation. Draco’s hole was hot, pliant, soft around Harry’s fingers, and he wanted to bury himself in it.

Draco must have felt the same way, because a moment later a slick hand was stroking up and down Harry’s cock. He looked down to watch those pale fingers playing with his foreskin, better than any fantasy his fevered brain could ever come up with. And then Draco was adjusting himself in Harry’s lap, guiding Harry’s cock to his arse, and sinking down, slow, liquid, languid. 

He was tight inside, tight enough he could probably have done with an extra finger or two first. But Harry couldn’t see anything but sensual pleasure on Draco’s face, so he didn’t feel bad about gripping once again at his hips and dragging him down until Harry was balls deep in him. It was like every muscle in his body simultaneously tightened and relaxed, the movement of his hips was unconscious and unstoppable as he started grinding up into Draco’s body. 

Their mouth still brushed, panting, open, shared gasps and moans filling the space between them. Draco adjusted his legs, and then started a rolling bounce, sliding himself up and down Harry’s cock, rocking his hips until a high whine broke out of him. And then he was riding Harry with intent, having found the perfect angle to hit his prostate, a flush blossomed across his chest, up his pale throat. 

Harry wandlessly conjured lube in his hand, the old trick every Hogwarts boy had mastered by Third Year, and wrapped his fist around Draco’s cock. He leaned back against the sofa, watching as Draco lost himself in the chase of pleasure, driving himself onto Harry’s cock, into his hand, his head thrown back. He was unabashed, utterly unselfconscious in his pleasure, all of his public restraint thrown away in the face of exposing every part of himself to Harry. 

Harry could already feel his orgasm building, aching pleasure coiling tight in his hips, his balls drawing high, sweat prickling the back of his neck. But Draco beat him to that finish line, as he came with a shuddering gasp, his come streaking across Harry’s hand and belly, his hole clenching wildly around Harry’s cock inside him. He slumped, resting his forehead on Harry’s shoulder, his body shivering through the aftershocks.

“Go on,” he rasped, panting against Harry’s neck. 

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s middle, planted his feet firmly on the floor, and let his body go. His thrusts up into Draco’s lax body started slow and measured but quickly devolved into rough, frantic rutting. The little punched out moans and litany of ‘_yes, yes, yes’_ Draco let out next to his ear was like fuel on the fire of Harry’s lust. He pounded into Draco’s hole, every thought narrowing to the single-minded drive to come. 

Draco tilted his hips, somehow letting Harry get deeper still, and that was the final push for Harry to fly, with a shout, over the edge of his own restraint into wild, free-falling bliss. 

His hips were twitching, his hands still fiercely gripped at Draco’s waist, and Draco was licking into his mouth, their panting breaths mingling, when a crashing bang made them both jolt.

“What the fuck?” Draco whispered against Harry’s lips.

Another bang, then another, it sounded like someone was kicking the living room door.

“Have—” _bang _“either of you _fucking idiots_—” _bang_ “_EVER _heard of a fucking SILENCING CHARM?!” Pansy sounded like she was moments away from a Bombarda, though her kicks might break through on their own.

Harry snorted with laughter, then promptly tried to muffle it against Draco’s neck, in case Pansy heard him and really _did _decide to come in and hex them. 

“I think you should handle this one Draco, I claim no responsibility for forgetting a _Silencio_, not with you wriggling around in those bloody shorts,” Harry whispered. 

Draco huffed, “I don’t _wriggle_. But fine. I’ll take care of it this time, but next time you can do a proper privacy charm.” 

Harry’s belly flipped over in anticipation of there being a next time. 

Draco drew back a little before shouting towards the door, “Sorry Pans, got a little carried away. You can blame Hermione - the shorts were her idea!”

There was silence from the hallway, before they heard her stomping back up the stairs towards her bedroom. Draco was grinning, mischief in every angle of his face. Harry cast a quick _Muffliato_ and then flopped them both onto their sides on the sofa, eager to make ‘next time’ happen right then and there. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this then come and say hello over on [my Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


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